


More than Words

by Mottlemoth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Comfort, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Protective Greg, Sex Toys, Soft Smut Sunday, Tenderness, True Love, Vulnerable Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 19:52:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15870597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/pseuds/Mottlemoth
Summary: Greg and Mycroft have spent months growing close, a slow building of trust and affection. Tonight, for the first time, Greg comes back to the house.





	More than Words

From the moment they arrived at the restaurant, Greg could feel it in the air. Something was different tonight. Mycroft wanted to stand close to him as they waited for a table, stay in physical contact with him. He wanted to share food. As they talked his eyes rarely left Greg's gaze, and when Greg flirted with him, he blushed with tentative pleasure and wanted to touch Greg's hands. That hadn't really happened in public before.

It started Greg thinking.

As they waited for the car, standing in the rain beneath Mycroft's umbrella, they shared a cigarette together. Greg could feel a question going unasked, and knew the only way to coax it forth was to give it space. He let himself settle into the comfortable quiet, smoking.

The rain began to pick up a little; Mycroft placed a tiny kiss upon his temple.

"Perhaps you'd... like to come back to the house," he said.

Greg glanced up from his cigarette, and caught the nervous look he was being given. He started to wonder even more.

He smiled, letting his eyes soften. "Sure, love. That'd be great."

Mycroft flushed again, quietly happy. He lapsed back into silence, and they continued to smoke, still wrapped in this deep and gentle closeness that Greg hadn't really sensed before.

In the car Mycroft shut the privacy screen. He sat close to Greg and quietly held his hand, weaving their fingers together in the darkness. He didn't talk much as they drove; he was thinking.

Greg let him think, playing gently with his fingers.

After a few minutes Mycroft turned into his body, and wanted to kiss Greg. His lips tasted like the caramel cheesecake they'd just shared; there was candle smoke and garlic in his hair. He stirred in Greg's arms, returning the deeper kisses as rain pattered against the blacked-out windows and the lights of London drifted sleepily by. He touched Greg's chest through his shirt, his fingertips careful and unsure. He shivered as Greg stroked the silk back of his waistcoat. Their tongues brushed, gently; Mycroft's fingers flexed. His breath hitched.

_Is it tonight, darlin'?_

Greg had been to the house before. They'd drunk whisky past midnight in Mycroft's study before, talking and laughing, then shared a chaste kiss on the doorstep goodnight. It had been this way for seven months now, this steady building of closeness without pressure. It felt good. It felt real, and after the mess of an unfaithful marriage, _real_ was something to be cherished. Mycroft understood dedication. He understood hard work and responsibility, and when he relaxed, he was a thoughtful man who liked comfort and familiarity.

This sudden quiet was deep and dark and soft; there was more in it. Greg could feel Mycroft still processing, even as they kissed. He didn't want to disturb that process - he'd seen a different form of it in Sherlock, and it wasn't something that could be aided or fast-tracked in any way. They were Holmeses. They needed time. The trick was to wait and to trust.

In Sherlock, it paid off in answers.

In Mycroft, it had paid off in conversational texts - in tentative phone calls, requesting his advice over coffee - in dinner together, in longer stretches of eye contact, in a soft wit and playfulness he never dreamed he'd ever see in Mycroft Holmes, then finally a first kiss on the sofa of Greg's flat. It still rose the hair on his arms whenever he thought of it. Since then, kisses had slowed and deepened; hands had searched over clothing, stroking, mapping each other's bodies, never straying to buttons. Growing their bond felt like falling slowly through petals.

Seventh months now; it wasn't a secret any more. Greg was known to the security services. _'You are listed in my file as my close friend,'_ Mycroft had told him, when he first came to the house, and for some reason it had meant so much more to Greg to be _'close friend'_ than _'boyfriend'._ He didn't imagine many others were listed as that. Some days he wondered if he was the only one.

Now they were here at the house, and Mycroft was letting them through the front door.

He logged a guest on the security panel, not meeting Greg's eyes. Greg's name appeared, high on the list of approved visitors; a brief tap, and the two of them were permitted inside.

In the darkened hallway, Mycroft took Greg's coat in silence. Greg helped Mycroft with his own, easing the gorgeous navy wool back from these slim shoulders he'd now spent seven months adoring. He hung Mycroft's coat beside his own on the stand, listening to his own heart beating hard in the quiet.

He then turned to Mycroft, wondering what conclusion had been reached.

Mycroft looked back at him. The expression was pale, and at its source Greg sensed a longing so monumental it had started to feel like fear. The look said, without a shadow of doubt, _help me -_ and Greg realised there was nothing else this could be. Mycroft didn't have the language to negotiate it. He didn't know how to ask, or how to tell. It was tonight, and Mycroft wanted it to be.

It was in his eyes.

Greg let his answer show in his own.

He came closer, holding Mycroft's gaze, and didn't speak. He didn't want to unsettle this quiet in which Mycroft felt safe. With every step he said, gently with his eyes, _stop me._

Mycroft didn't stop him. He simply waited, unbreathing, and watching Greg come closer. His pupils grew as the gap between them vanished.

Quietly Greg stepped into his body, and guided him back against the wood panelling of the hallway. Mycroft's gaze flickered; he let himself be pushed. Colour flooded his face.

Greg leant close, brushing their noses - a breath away. _Promise me._

Mycroft's fingers shook as they wound through his hair.

They kissed, slow and deep; Greg let their bodies press. He let Mycroft's nervous sigh and shiver heat his blood. Pressure began to swirl low in his abdomen, their tongues stroking, Mycroft's breathing audibly tight.

 _Tonight,_ Greg thought.

He didn't know exactly what. He couldn't see past this moment, but the morning would come. He could feel himself hardening as they kissed, a lazy ache for all the intimate thoughts now flickering through his mind.

Deciding to test, to make sure he'd read this right, he pressed his hips a little closer. He let Mycroft feel the growing interest of his cock through his trousers, praying to every god in the sky he wasn't wrong here.

Mycroft shivered at once, and made a sound that nearly stopped Greg's heart - a faint, desperate intake of breath. He kissed Greg harder, shaking. _Please,_ Greg felt him say. _Yes. Tonight._

He cupped Mycroft's jaw, calming him, and eased the movements of their lips back to slow and soft.

 _Easy,_ he promised, slipping his tongue into Mycroft's mouth. _First steps. Nice and easy._

Mycroft trembled against him. He held Greg's waist, and Greg felt his fingers twitch as their erections gently rubbed. _Need. Scared._

 _I know,_ Greg soothed, and curled a finger around the first button of Mycroft's waistcoat. Gently he slipped it open; Mycroft's stomach swelled as inhaled deeply. _Safe with me._

As Mycroft led him up the stairs, Greg kept their fingers tangled.

He remembered the master bedroom from the tour - wood panelling and a four-poster bed, one door that led to a walk-in wardrobe, the other to an en suite bathroom.

They stood by Mycroft's bed in the darkness, kissing with nervous urgency now and slowly relieving each other of waistcoats and ties. Mycroft blushed as he drew back to tend to his cufflinks, his fingers shaking. He placed them on the bedside, then with the same look of quiet and restless need he returned to Greg's arms. Their lips met once more, soothing each other as they kissed in just their shirts.

 _All safe,_ Greg promised with every stroke of his lips. He cupped Mycroft's jaw, running his thumbs tenderly beneath Mycroft's mouth. _Just this. Just fine._

Mycroft shook in his arms; his tongue tentatively followed Greg's between his lips. _More. Please - frightened._

The next stage of this was skin. From there, things might unfold with haste. It was not a small boundary to cross.

As he stroked Mycroft's back through his shirt, an idea occurred to Greg. _Comfort, calm and touch,_ he thought - a step to skin that wasn't also straight to sex.

At his gentle pull, Mycroft followed him without question to the bathroom.

He watched, hesitating, as Greg put the plug in the bath and started the hot water running. Before he let Greg take him into his arms again, his eyes flickered to a glass bottle on the side - a translucent lavender-coloured liquid, which turned out to be a bath oil. It was expensive enough to be added to the water drop-by-drop.

Mycroft was generous with it, his hands shaking as he replaced the cap.

The fragrance rose around them on the steam as they kissed and undressed. Greg had never smelled anything quite so good in all his life. In twenty years, the scent of lavender and tonka would still be reminding him of this moment - how it felt to stand here with Mycroft, cradling him, kissing him gently as he eased open Mycroft's shirt buttons, stroking back the tailored fabric that covered him, gliding his palms over bare skin at last. Mycroft was shaking like a leaf. His breath tightened as Greg caressed his back, then he stiffened into silence as Greg knelt to loosen his trousers. He didn't make a sound as Greg eased them down, along with his underwear, and helped him step from them. One shaking hand braced itself on Greg's shoulder; the other curled nervously at his side.

On his knees, Greg kissed Mycroft's pretty freckled thighs, stroked his hips and nuzzled his stomach, adoring these places he'd never touched before. The tight quiet was strange. Greg took a gentle glance upwards, and found Mycroft's eyes had closed, his head tipped back to the ceiling. His cheeks were flushed already, and he was biting into his lip as if in concentration - suppressing what looked like moans.

Realising, Greg reproached himself for skipping a vital lesson here.

He rose to his feet, looped his arms with care around Mycroft's waist, and brought him close for a cuddle. Mycroft trembled, now naked against his bare chest; his arms went round Greg, too. After a few nervous moments, he began to touch Greg's back - quiet, exploratory strokes of his palms - and Greg rested his chin on Mycroft's shoulder. He inhaled with the stroking, drawing his focus to the gentle contact, and let his next outbreath leave him as a soft moan.

Mycroft shivered desperately.

He responded to the sound, shy, and repeated the stroking. Greg leant in to kiss his neck, brushing slowly with his mouth, and hummed his appreciation of the soft white skin.

Trembling, Mycroft gave a quiet moan for his hearing.

_There, sweetheart... it's okay to make noise when it feels good. It's okay to do that for me._

As the bath grew deep, Mycroft undid his belt. He knelt to free Greg of his trousers, and their clothing was left pooled on the floor. Greg couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this aroused and at ease at once. Mycroft was impossibly wonderful to undress, warm and pale and untouched, and he breathed deeply as Greg kissed him now. His hands were eager and fond as they ran over Greg's skin.

 _More,_ they said. _Please._

As he turned off the taps, Greg caught those hopeful hands in his own. He brought them to his mouth, and kissed them, and held them carefully as Mycroft stepped into the tub.

They laid down together in the hot water, kissing, still touching all those places that had been hidden under clothing all this time. The bath oil had turned the water to silk; Greg could feel it sinking into Mycroft's skin already. Their mouths brushed together longingly, lips soft and legs tangled under the surface, and as Greg petted his pretty thighs Mycroft started to whimper. He began to stir against Greg, tiny and timid motions of his hips - barely there.

The shy request for pleasure kicked Greg's pulse into double-time. He slid his fingers down between them, between their stomachs; he curled his hand around the cock now straining for his touch.

As he stroked, Mycroft panted against his mouth. He reached for Greg too, shaking with enjoyment, and began to mirror the intimate motions being taught to him. His fingers were slender and slow, just a little too gentle, but right now it was all Greg wanted in the world. He couldn't breathe with the shyness of it. He couldn't cope. Mycroft began to beg him softly in little moans, rocking into his grip, cheeks flushed and his eyes glittering with a foggy and feverish look of need that Greg wouldn't forget as long as he lived. _First pleasure. First time._

He took Mycroft as close to the brink as he dared, then with a loving kiss, he eased his hand away. _Bed, darlin'. More._ Mycroft quivered, nestled into his arms and hugged him tightly as they breathed together, calming, barely daring to move in case it was suddenly all too much.

As Greg laid Mycroft down upon the bed, his hair was still damp; the scent of lavender still clung to his pretty freckled skin. He was soft all over, perfect and pale, and he trembled as Greg leant down to kiss every inch of his stomach.

He inhaled as Greg gently parted his thighs; he gasped as Greg began to slowly lick his cock.

_First time._

_First night I've ever heard you make these sounds._

Mycroft sounded as if he'd never felt anything so good in his life. He was quiet, as reserved in this as he was in everything - but each heartfelt moan took the breath from Greg's lungs. As Greg gathered Mycroft's cock into his mouth, took him deep and began to slide back and forth, taking his time, Mycroft panted in almost frantic enjoyment. He struggled gently, twisting the sheets between his fingers. Greg watched up the length of his body as his head dropped back into the pillows, as his chest rose and fell quick and soft in the darkness.

It took longer to edge him back from the brink this time. Mycroft's shivering didn't end. Though his breathing slowed, his pulse did not. As Greg returned up the bed Mycroft kissed him and drove his fingers through Greg's hair, shaking, pulling their bodies close again. _More,_ he felt Mycroft plead. _Show me more. Take me further._

Greg was nervous for a moment that they'd have to talk - have to break this tender spell - then Mycroft reached for the bedside drawer. He opened it, flushing, and glanced at Greg.

His pupils were huge. _Please._

Greg's stomach squeezed. He kissed Mycroft slowly, cupping his face in a hand. _Safe with me. Always safe._

He wasn't sure what to expect as he reached into the drawer. Whatever was in here, Mycroft wanted it right now - and that was enough for Greg. His fingers found first a smooth bottle - silicone lube - then a second bottle, water-based; and as he found silicone toys, Greg understood.

_Darlin'..._

Beads - plugs. A smooth dildo, slender and soft pink.

Mycroft looked tentatively mortified as Greg took a few from the drawer. He gave Mycroft a gentle smile, kissed his forehead, and waited for a choice to be made.

Shaking, blushing, Mycroft gently nudged the dildo into his hands.

Greg's heart thumped as he took it, feeling like he'd just been handed a particularly shy piece of his lover's soul. The toy was slimmer than he was. It was smooth and it would feel familiar, and he was about to watch Mycroft enjoy it.

Mycroft's lube of choice promised the skin-softening benefits of natural jojoba oil. _Of course your lube has jojoba oil in it,_ Greg thought fondly, as he flooded his palm with the pale golden liquid. Mycroft squirmed a little, watching him with a touch of nervous humour - it was nearly even a smile.

Greg smiled back, coating the toy with his hands.

Mycroft watched him. His cheeks pinkened, his breath a little tight.

As Greg reached between his thighs, gently brushing his fingertips there with a questioning glance, Mycroft shivered and bit into his lip. He shook his head. He reached down with a tremor and helped Greg guide the toy to his entrance instead, blushing deeply.

Greg leant down to kiss him, shaking.

 _Show me. Show me, sweetheart._ He didn't know why it was hot as hell that this was Mycroft's toy. _All this time,_ he thought, seven months slowly bonding for this moment, for this night when he could finally be brought this close - to share this - to be here, gently following Mycroft's guidance as he slid the smooth length into his body - to be _trusted_ like this -

His heart was pounding itself out of rhythm. He couldn't breathe.

As the toy sank deeper inside him, Mycroft's gaze fluttered. Familiar pleasure flooded his face; he whimpered a little, huffed, and held Greg's hands still. They kissed and they breathed together as he adjusted, and the tremors of Mycroft's fingers eased. Greg had never been so turned on in all his life.

At last, Mycroft drew a shaky breath. He rocked his hips, gazing up into Greg's eyes.

Slowly out, smooth, a moment's pause - then just as slowly back in, and Greg watched enjoyment wash across his lover's face. Mycroft's pupils swelled to twice their size; the air caught in his throat, his mouth opening as he stretched. Pleasure tightened his features at once. He stirred restlessly against the bed, parting his thighs a little wider with a fragile moan, and the request was all too clear.

No longer breathing, Greg repeated the careful thrust; another moan shook itself free from Mycroft's throat.

He didn't let go of Greg's gaze for a moment as Greg fucked him gently with the toy.

As the rhythm deepened he drew his knees back, opening himself, lying back and panting. Greg watched him for any hint of discomfort, any longing for change - but none came. Mycroft was just feeling. He was just enjoying it. He didn't want anything to be different. He wanted to feel filled, and he wanted Greg to fill him. His sounds of enjoyment were almost desperate now, bolder, a little louder, a little lost to his own rising restless need. His body gently gaped each time the toy withdrew; his cock laid leaking and ignored against his stomach. He was whimpering.

Greg watched his climax come close for the third time.

He began to long with all his soul to see it. _Like this,_ he thought, _the first time,_ kneeling here between Mycroft's open thighs, watching him scrunch the sheets in his hands and tremble as Greg fucked him with a toy. _Watch you come. Watch you show me._

Mycroft's breath suddenly cut in a gasp. He shook hard, and reached down to grab hold of Greg's hands. _No more. No more toy._ Greg withdrew it with care, his heart beating hard; he put it aside with the others.

Mycroft reached for him shaking, his pupils big as coins.

Greg understood. It blew his heart to pieces; it drove his pulse up through the roof. _Yes. Fuck. Yes, darlin' - I'm here._

Gently he settled closer, and took his cock in his hand. Mycroft's broken sound of need cut him to the heart. Reaching over to the bedside, Greg took the tube of lubricant and snapped open the lid, coating himself thickly with it, his heart hammering. His skin was tingling all over. _Won't hurt you. Not for a moment._

Mycroft bit into his lip as Greg's cock nuzzled into place.

They met eyes, both shaking; with a swallow, Mycroft nodded.

Greg took it slowly.

He tried not to think - tried not to feel. He couldn't focus right now on how Mycroft felt inside, how sinfully warm he was, how tight, relaxed from being fucked with his toy and now trembling all over as Greg filled him. He forced himself to watch the rhythm of Mycroft's breathing instead, watch his face, watch for even the first tiny flutter of distress.

Distress didn't come; there was just relief. Mycroft's eyes were full of longing, his face soft with enjoyment. He'd never seen Mycroft like this, so physical - so human - he'd always been fucking gorgeous. He was perfectly, desperately beautiful too.

When Greg finally felt his hips come flush to Mycroft's, they shared a shivering outbreath. Their eyes locked, and Mycroft shook a little. Trembling, he reached out for Greg's hands.

Their fingers tangled in the air. They held onto each other, gently gripping.

The minute that followed was the single most intimate of Greg's life.

They didn't move. They simply waited, inside of each other, breathing together as the enormity of it all gently eased. Mycroft's eyes shone in the darkness. Greg smiled, stroking gentle circles on his palms with his thumbs.

Quietly Mycroft smiled back at him, breathing something out. He shivered with it, his throat muscles working - then tightened his grip on Greg's hands.

With a rock of his hips, he moaned gently for Greg to go on.

Greg's heart cracked. He leant down to Mycroft, laid their lips together, and carefully began to move.

The feeling of gliding slowly in and out of Mycroft's body was so intensely good that in moments, he feared he wouldn't be able to make this last - but something about the brush of Mycroft's fingers through his hair was soothing him on a level he'd never felt before, not during sex, not ever. Mycroft wanted to kiss him, and it was calming. Slow felt satisfying; slow felt right. There was no urge to chase. There was just this easy motion together, breathing and kissing, Mycroft's overwhelmed sounds of pleasure as Greg built it gently for him, the needy curl of his fingers at Greg's shoulder, the tentative pulling at his lower back. _More._ Greg nuzzled into his neck and gave him more, deeper and harder pushes, just as slow.

Mycroft stretched, letting out a sound of desperation. His knees squeezed either side of Greg; the fingers on his shoulder tightened their grip.

"I need you," he suddenly gasped, and Greg's soul took light. "Greg. I need you. Stay."

Greg swallowed, shaking. These words mattered.

"Don't ever make me go." He felt Mycroft breathe around him, trembling, gazing up into his eyes. "I need you, too. I mean it."

"Greg - " Mycroft's chest heaved; his face tightened. "Oh god, make me come - "

 

*

 

"Don't think I've ever seen you that nervous."

He felt Mycroft smile against his shoulder, fingers gently smoothing Greg's chest hair. "Not sure I've ever been so."

 _All the politicians you deal with,_ Greg thought fondly. _All the world leaders. All the disasters you manage... and it's sex that makes you scared._

He kissed the top of Mycroft's head, closing his eyes.

"Was it alright in the end?" he asked softly

"Mhm. Incredibly alright." Mycroft's ankle slipped around his own beneath the sheets. "Thank you."

Greg grinned against the top of Mycroft's head. "'for?"

"Your patience. Your gentleness."

"S'fine, gorgeous... thank you for trusting me." Greg wove their fingers together on his chest. "I've got nothing on tomorrow... we could go for brunch, if you like... that bistro, maybe? The one in Covent Garden?"

"With the almond waffles?"

"Mhm."

Mycroft stretched, nuzzling happily against his shoulder. "I would love that," he murmured. "Perfect."

Greg smiled. "That's a plan, then."

As they were slipping off to sleep, Mycroft stirred in his arms.

"Greg?" he murmured.

Greg kissed the side of his neck, inhaling the trace of lavender still soft upon his skin. "Mm?"

Mycroft hesitated. "Would it distress you, if I told you that I love you?"

Greg grinned at once from ear-to-ear.

He tightened his hold around Mycroft's waist, and felt his heart spread wide its wings. "You've already told me, darlin'."

 


End file.
